Her Muse, Her Magic

by Jane Charles

  He stopped beside the table and looked about while Brighid grabbed a mortar and pestle, along with already dried herbs from the back wall of shelves which were laden with jars of dried leaves, roots, salves, ointments and lotions.

  “Please have a seat. . . I’m sorry; I don’t know your name.”

  “Quentin Post.”

  She stilled. “You are Lord Bradenham’s brother?” If she remembered correctly, the family name was Post, but hoped she was wrong. If he were of a relation to the owner, he should not be in here. Anyone with blood of the castle, which was anyone who was a descendent of Mrs. Routledge, was denied access to this room. Brighid pushed down the panic that threatened to clog her throat. She may have just escorted one in, thus breaking the protection.

  She grasped the table, recalling the gust of wind.

  No—it was nonsense. She was not like them—her ancestors.

  “Yes,” he smiled. “Are you a servant at Marisdùn?”

  “No, I am a healer.”

  His eyebrows shot up before he winced and relaxed his brow.

  “Does your head pain you?” She quickly busied herself with gathering the items to treat his eye. Maybe if she escorted him from the room when she was done the protection would not be broken.

  “Yes,” he groaned. “But that was already the case before my brother hit me.”

  Goodness. “Your brother struck you? Whatever for?”

  He waved a hand in dismissal. “Just a disagreement about a girl.”

  Of course it was. Wasn’t that what usually caused gentlemen to behave foolishly? Didn’t the others bring mistresses with them as well, or hadn’t they shown the same forethought as Blake?

  She ground the herbs with more force than was necessary and stopped before they were too damaged to be of use.

  “Do you live at the castle?” Lord Quentin asked.

  “No, I live in the woods between here, Tolbright and Torrington Abbey.” She wrapped the herbs in a thin linen cloth, tied it off and dropped them into a cup before pouring the water over to let them steep.

  “I assume you know my friend, Chetwey.”

  She nodded as she plucked the linen from the water and set it aside to cool for a moment. She needed to get away from the room. She needed to get him out of the herbarium. The castle may be haunted, but this room haunted her in a very different manner, made worse with Lord Quentin’s presence. It was closing in on her and she could barely breathe. She placed the compress on the back of her hand to make sure it wasn’t too hot to place against his face. “Tilt your head back.”

  He did as she instructed and she laid it against his eye. “Please hold it in place.”

  Lord Quentin winced, but placed his fingers on the compress.

  “Now, to see about your headache.”

  As she reached for the herbs she turned to study Lord Quentin, dragging her lower lip between her teeth. She could ask him who the woman in Blake’s bed was.

  She shook the thought from her mind. It wasn’t her business. And if the woman was Blake’s mistress, Lord Quentin certainly wouldn’t discuss it with her.

  She quickly mixed willow bark and honey into the glass of water. “Drink this then lay down with the compress on your eye.” Brushing her hands off, she grasped his arm and pulled him to his feet.

  He looked at her rather oddly, but allowed her escort into the kitchen.

  “Let it be sealed,” she muttered under her breath after he passed through. Another gust of wind swept through the room but nobody seemed to notice but her.

  Heart pounding and stomach swirling, Brighid rushed toward the door leading outside and emerged into the medicinal garden. The sun was bright and her nerves immediately calmed. “I am not like my ancestors. I am not a witch and I have no power.” If she believed it strongly enough, it would be true.

  She sank down onto the dark, flat stone in the center of the garden and looked up at the castle, to the window of Blake’s chamber. “Why couldn’t you have gotten ill at Torrington Abbey? Why couldn’t I treat you there? Why did I have to face what I try to ignore? And why did you have to bring a woman with you?”

  Brighid glanced around at the plants. Some were in need of harvesting but that would require her to return to the herbarium for her twine and boleen, which she could not yet do. Instead, she bent to weeding so she could to remain outside. She was shaken by the protection around the herbarium being broken. It had been in place for decades and she stupidly escorted one of the blood of the castle over the threshold. Hopefully it was protected again or they could all be in trouble, especially this close to Samhain. Given the rumored portal was directly below the room, she shuddered to think what could happen at midnight.

  No, she mustn’t think on it. It was just a legend and for all she knew, a made up tale to keep the owners and their families away from the herbarium. Or, perhaps it was a story invented to scare children so they didn’t stumble into the room and eat something that could harm them.

  Just because the castle was haunted, didn’t mean there was an evil that had wanted to see her ancestors destroyed. Years ago, right before Mrs. Routledge disappeared, the woman had banished her family from the castle. They were not allowed to take anything from the herbarium, but Brighid’s great-grandmother had cast a protection spell surrounding the room to keep Mrs. Routledge from destroying it or using the magic for herself.

  Brighid had scoffed at the idea that any of them ever possessed magic. It was more likely the two women did not like each other and had a falling out.

  But how did she explain the gusts of wind?

  No, she mustn’t think on it. She pulled harder at the weeds.

  A shadow fell over her and Brighid glanced up. Her mood lightened at seeing her dearest friend, Anna Southward. “Here to study the statues again?”

  Her friend dropped to the ground beside her. “Forget the statues. Have you noticed the gentlemen who have arrived?” Anna’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “I wouldn’t mind painting or sculpting one of them.”

  Brighid couldn’t help but laugh. Anna was always looking for new subjects for her art. There were few to be had in Ravenglass.

  “I am sure none of them would mind posing for you.” David Thorn immediately came to mind and even though Brighid did not know him well, she believed he would jump at the chance to remove his clothing and pose if any woman asked. Not that Anna would be so bold. Her uncle, Vicar Southward, would probably have an apoplexy if she did. The poor man had no idea what to do with the unconventional and artistic niece he gained guardianship of six years ago. Anna was now twenty and even bolder than before, just stopping short in her behavior, and art, to keep from ruining herself.

  “If only it were possible.” Anna sighed as she stood. “Care to walk into Ravenglass with me?”

  Brighid mulled over the idea. It would get her away from the castle. Blake wouldn’t need tea yet, and he certainly didn’t need her. If he did need anything, there was already a woman to see to whatever necessity he might have. Besides, she still hadn’t obtained her rum butter from Daphne. She pushed to her feet. “I would be happy to.”

  Anna talked on and on about the gentlemen she had seen about the grounds of Marisdùn, unable to decide which was more handsome, or who had the best bone structure, and if she would be able blend the right paints to match their eye and hair coloring to perfection, though she really wished to sculpt them. Anna was determined to create her own David, having fallen in love with Michelangelo’s statue when she visited Florence before her parents died.

  “Will you be going to the masquerade?” Anna asked.

  Cook had advised her earlier about the festivities planned, and the number of invitations that had already been sent for a masquarde on October thirty-first. The last thing Brighid wished to do was celebrate Samhain at a castle already full of ghosts. Lord Bradenham and his guests were asking for mischief, whether they realized it or not, and she wanted no part of it. She preferred to remain safe in her cottage with her
grandmother. Only the brave—or the very foolish—venture out of doors after sundown on Samhain. “No. Are you?”

  Anna grinned. “Of course! Not that my uncle is aware, nor have I received an invitation, but I am not about to let that stop me from enjoying the most exciting thing that will ever happen in Ravenglass.”

  Brighid thought to warn her friend, but held her tongue. If she spouted what she knew of and feared on this night, Anna would only laugh at her. Or worse, start calling her a witch like Blake did.

  Upon reaching town, the two split up. Anna returned to the vicarage. Brighid walked on to the Alcotts. Once again no one was at home so she slid a note under the door to let Daphne know she was in need of more jars of butter rum. As she turned back toward Marisdùn, the sky began to darken. She quickened her pace to avoid getting caught in the rain.

  Blake wished he could sleep but it eluded him. He was feverish, aching, and all around miserable. At least his head wasn’t pounding as fiercely as before, but his stomach still churned. It was damned frustrating to lie in bed with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling or the door, hoping someone would come in and entertain him.

  Where were his friends? They had to be about. It was raining outside. Had they forgotten he was here?

  He grumbled and pushed back into the pillows. Where was Brighid? A maid had delivered tea earlier. Had she returned to her grandmother’s cottage? What had she meant by she earlier? Certainly she hadn’t meant Miss Alcott. The young woman could only help him as far as giving him Dover’s Powder.

  He jerked at the knock at his door. “Come,” he grumbled. It was probably another maid with a lukewarm cup of tea. Where the blazes had Brighid gone off too? Didn’t she know he needed her?

  The door slowly opened and Brighid poked her head around the door. “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.” Blake brightened. She hadn’t abandoned him, but why did she always expect someone to be with him?

  She pushed the door further open and entered. In her hand she held a cup and saucer and he assumed it was more of the tea. Much to his disappointment, Dr. Alcott followed her into the room. The man could go hang. He had better not think of trying to bleed him again.

  Dr. Alcott paused by the bed, felt Blake’s brow and then pushed against his cheeks with this thumbs again. “It seems Miss Glace was correct.” Dr. Alcott smiled. “Your condition is improving.”

  Blake didn’t feel like he had improved that much, but if it kept the doctor from going for a blade, who was he to argue the point?

  Brighid hitched a brow as if to say I told you so, and stepped around the doctor.

  Blake pulled himself to a seated position and tried not to grimace. It was best not to let on how much pain he was in just in case Dr. Alcott changed his mind. Brighid set the cup on the bedside table before stacking the pillows behind him so that he could relax against them and then handed him the tea. It wasn’t the best brew he had drunk, but it seemed to be doing the trick in getting him through this latest episode.

  They left him and walked to the opposite side of the room.

  “I really should not dismiss the medicinal powers of your herbs, Miss Glace,” Alcott said with a smile.

  Blake narrowed his eyes. Did Brighid just blush? She never blushed, at least not around him.

  And why weren’t they standing where he could participate in their conversation. It was rather rude of them.

  “You are new to the practice,” Brighid reminded he doctor. ”But I would be happy to share with you any knowledge I possess.”

  Blake grunted. He was just as certain Dr. Alcott wished her to share more than what she knew about her bloody plants.

  Brighid turned toward him. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Blake grumbled and went back to drinking his tea.

  “In truth, I wish to travel to London and work under a more educated doctor.” Alcott leaned closer to Brighid. “My father was only able to teach me so much, and actual practice was limited at the university.” He straightened. “What I need is to gain experience under someone who is more qualified.”

  If Alcott were in London, he wouldn’t be with Brighid. “I could help,” Blake announced.

  They both turned toward him.

  “I can arrange for you to work under my London physician. I am sure he would be happy to have you.”

  Dr. Alcott brightened and hurried toward Blake’s bedside. “Do you really think so?”

  “Of course,” he answered, though Blake really had no idea. But he would see that it was done. He would pay the physician, if he had to, to take Alcott on. “I’ll write to him as soon as I am well.”

  Brighid strolled to the side of the bed and studied Blake with suspicion. “That is very kind of you.”

  Or perhaps his guilty conscience saw it as suspicion.

  “Thank you, but please don’t say anything, especially to my sister,” Dr. Alcott insisted. “At least not until we know if he will have me. I would hate to needlessly upset Daphne, of course.”

  “Of course,” Brighid agreed.

  “Well, then,” Dr. Alcott picked up his bag. “It appears Miss Glace has everything well in hand and I will leave you to her care.” He started for the door and stopped. “I almost forgot.” He opened his bag and withdrew a jar of something which he handed to Brighid. “I saw the note you left for my sister and since I was coming here….”

  The man practically stammered. Did he have a tendre for Brighid? Well, that would soon end. At least it would once he was off to London.

  Brighid beamed. “Thank you so much. We are out and I have been craving Daphne’s rum butter.”

  He should have known it was the rum butter. His aunt and uncle constantly had some available.

  “It is my pleasure.” Dr. Alcott nodded and quit the room.

  Alcott was gone and Brighid remained. Blake’s day just got brighter.

  “If that will be all,” Brighid took the empty cup from him. “I’ll return this to the kitchens.”

  “Wait.” He didn’t wish to be alone. He was bored and truth be told, this room rather disturbed him.

  She hitched a brow. “Yes?”

  “I would like some company.”

  Her back straightened and Blake could swear he heard her snort. “I am sure there is someone else who would be more than happy to keep you entertained.” With that she lifted her chin, turned and exited the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

  “Witch,” Blake grumbled and pulled the blanket up to his chin before closing his eyes.

  He must have slept because when he woke again, it was dark and the young woman from before was beside his bed. There was something angelic about her. “Who are you?”

  She smiled and love shown in her green eyes. She brought a finger to her lips as if to shush him before settling at the side of the bed. She must be very slight because the mattress didn’t even dip. Her cool fingers smoothed his brow before feathering through his hair.

  Brighid did everything in her power to remain busy the next day. She even went so far as to organize the herbarium, spending more time in that room than she had in the past two months. It did need a thorough cleaning and many of the plants could be taken from the rafters and put into jars.

  She should have just returned to her grandmother’s cottage. It wasn’t as if she was needed. Blake may wish for her to prepare his tea, but another kept him comfortable at night.

  Oh, why had she checked on him in the middle of the night again? She should have just stayed away. Because she was worried that he might be feverish, she had taken another cup of tea to him shortly after midnight only to find that woman in his bed again, draped across him like a blanket. If she were so concerned with her lover, why wasn’t she taking care of Blake during the day?

  If she didn’t fear Blake might get worse, Brighid would have returned home, but she couldn’t leave the castle. Not until he was recovered. Yet, that didn’t mean she had to be the one to care for him in the interim. The maids were skilled
at making the tea and since Blake’s lover couldn’t be bothered, others could see to his care. Mrs. Small would let her know if he needed anything further.

  “Where the bloody hell is Brighid?” Blake had lain in bed all day with nobody to keep him company. A maid had brought him tea but he hadn’t seen anyone else. His friends popped in for a moment to check on him, but none stayed around long enough to keep him company. It was rather depressing and as the hours ticked by, he felt more and more sorry for himself, even though he was physically feeling much better. His body barely ached, the head pains were gone and his stomach no longer churned with threats of tossing up his accounts. He could do with some company.

  Had Brighid returned to her grandmother’s?

  No, she was going to remain until he was well. As he was still ill, where the blazes was she?

  “Thorn!” If he so much as attempted to kiss Brighid, their friendship was over.

  Of course, Thorn was probably doing just that with Brighid succumbing to his charms right at this very moment. How could she not? The man did have a way about him, not that Blake understood what it was, but women seemed to fall into bed with him at every turn.

  “Or, maybe she was with Alcott.” The doctor did want to learn more about herbs. They were probably with their heads together right now, talking about plants and such while he lay up here in misery.

  Well, he would show them. Tomorrow he was leaving this bed, whether he was up to it or not! He would put an end to Thorn’s seduction and Alcott’s need for plant knowledge.

  At least the beautiful maid visited him.

  Why did she only come in the middle of the night, though? And why didn’t she speak?

  It was rather confusing and, hopefully, when he was well, he could ask about her, so that he could thank her for her care.